To Steal A Duke's Heart

By Audrey Ashwood and R.R. Wynter

A disgraced young woman with nothing to lose.
A handsome, newly appointed duke, bound by his honour.
Her one opportunity to steal his heart.

Disowned by her parents for helping her sister elope to the Americas, beautiful Grace Curtis sets her sights on handsome and bold George Blackmore, the newly appointed Duke of Cromford. 

However, fate seems intent on keeping them apart. When the duke's younger brother Edmund develops an interest in Grace's best friend, Grace is determined to bring the pair together, in the hope of seeing the duke again – and stealing his heart.

To Steal a Duke's Heart is a touching tale of love, set against the glittering backdrop of Regency England. It is a traditional, clean historical full-length regency romance novel that will keep you reading deep into the night. 340 pages. No cliffhanger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.R. Wynter
• Release date: May 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393160809

Book preview

Chapter 1

One thing that could not be said about the people of London, was that they knew how to enjoy themselves. In fact, it was true to say that the great and the good of the city’s society, seemed to take special care not to be seen to be enjoying themselves too much at balls and other social occasions. Boredom, apathy, and discontent were fast becoming a fashion of their own among the residents of the city. There was no better way to demonstrate your refinement and class, than to pretend that everything in the world was beneath your notice. If, for example, a lady were to receive gold and diamond necklaces or rings as gifts from a suitor, she should make an effort to regard those objects as if she had been presented with nothing more than a turnip. To live as though every day were dreary and gloomy – that was the game one needed to play, in order to attract a husband.

Fortunately, Grace Curtis was not looking to attract a suitor, although she really ought to have been. Her aunt was of the opinion that in view of the kindness that she had shown to her niece, she should at least show some interest in the men of London. However, Grace was not beholden to her aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Lynch. Even though her residence, in the unfashionable end of the city, had been given to her by her aunt, and even though her aunt had spent a considerable sum on her, Grace had made her position clear. She was perfectly happy to receive any gift the duchess might choose to bestow upon her, but always on the understanding that nothing was expected of her in return. Grace had gained a reputation for defying expectations, since coming to the capital, and she was not prepared to give up this status that she had garnered for herself.

Isn’t this the most pleasant evening that we are enjoying? This must be the most successful party of the season thus far.

Why would you say that? Her companion asked.

Well, I saw old Wolsey crack a half-smile while dancing earlier. That is one smile more than I have seen at any other function I have attended this month.

Permit me to make it two then. Catherine Melton spread her lips wide, into a most ridiculous grin. The sight was more than enough to send Grace’s composure over the edge, and she laughed delightedly at her friend’s antics. Catherine laughed in turn but managed to hold her amusement in check just a little better than Grace had.

Now the disapproving glances are all centred on me, I might add. It is terrible of you to bait me into a fit like that. You know well enough how precarious my standing is among these friends of my aunt.

You do not care for their good opinion at all, Catherine countered, before bringing her glass of champagne to her lips. She did good work in making herself sit in a refined and elegant manner.

I believe I should step into the next room for a few moments. Grace surveyed the eyes watching them. By the looks on the other guests’ faces, it will not be long before some old crone makes a complaint about me. I would like to spare Aunt Lynch that aggravation, tonight, if it can at all be helped.

I suppose I can entertain myself for a little while, Catherine pouted. I promised my father that I would brave a dance with Mr Stanhope this evening anyway.

You would dare to share a dance with Mr Stanhope while I am out of the room? Grace seemed genuinely disappointed. You spoilsport! You know how I love to watch you dance with that delightful man.

You mean you love to see him miss his steps and trample over my poor feet. Catherine took a longer draught of her champagne, as if trying to fortify herself for what was to come. I am sorry my dear, but I’m not inclined to suffer such embarrassment for your amusement.

Indeed not, Grace agreed. You suffer to appease your father. I would be most concerned if you let yourself go through so much pain, dancing with that man, only to amuse me. I prefer to think of the pleasure I gain from watching you dance with Mr Stanhope as a happy bonus to an otherwise grim situation.

Oh, do be gone! Catherine shot her friend an amused smile, and then she began to step away, moving to intercept two women walking in their general direction. The distraction gave Grace the time she needed to escape.

---

It was difficult to move about the crowded hall. Their hosts, whoever they were, had made the mistake of inviting far too many people into their home. No doubt, they had hoped their neighbours would be impressed by the number of guests they were able to accommodate. If that was indeed their ploy, Grace decided that their plan had backfired disastrously. Inviting every minor nobleman and high class merchant in the city, had made the ball a veritable crush and, try as you might, there was no privacy to be had anywhere. No matter where Grace stood, she found herself pressed uncomfortably close to half-remembered acquaintances with whom she had no desire to converse.

For a short while, Grace tried to make do with standing close to one of the ornate marble columns that lined the sides of the hall. She leant her back heavily against it, and the cool stone provided a welcome relief from the heat of so many bodies packed into a place that was too small. She let out a sigh and silently cursed herself for not having had the good sense to bring a fan with her.

Excuse me. You are Miss Curtis, are you not?

Grace winced and turned her attention to the voice that had spoken to her. She found herself looking into the eyes of a keen young man, whose features told of his not being much older than a boy. His eager look and trembling hands were not at all attractive and suggested a great nervousness in talking to women. Worse still was his gaze, that seemed incapable of rising above the line of Grace’s cleavage. She was not such a prude that she could not be flattered by a man admiring her figure, but the boy’s lustful gaze lingered on, suggesting something unpleasantly obsessive.

After looking the young man up and down, Grace was confident that this was an acquaintance she did not wish to make. She fixed him with an arched smile and shook her head. I am sorry. I do believe you have mistaken me for someone else.

Really? The young man sounded genuinely confused. "I just spoke to my friends there, and they insisted that you are Miss Curtis, niece to the Duchess of Lynch."

Did they… how curious. Oh, I do believe there is my dear friend, Lady… Oh, I must… Oh, do excuse me…

Grace pushed herself away from the marble pillar while gazing eagerly in the direction of her entirely fictitious friend (perhaps the crush of bodies could yet serve some useful purpose) and began to move off. Thankfully, the young man had enough sense not to pursue her, thereby forcing her to bruise his ego further.

---

In the end, the best place of refuge for Grace was at the card table, set up in one of the side rooms. Cards were generally a pursuit for the married man and the elder lady. Single young men, eagerly seeking a potential bride, preferred to keep themselves to the traditional hunting ground that was the dance floor. At the card tables, all eyes were down and focused on tightly-held hands. Eyes rarely flicked up to survey the scene beyond the high-stakes games being played. All the players were sitting down, which meant that there was a lot more free floor space, and Grace could move about far more easily. She did not feel quite as much like a sheep trying to make its way through a cramped pen.

Grace moved to the corner of the room where wines and spirits had been laid out. She nodded towards a fine amber-coloured brandy and saw the valet who was charged with serving the drinks, perform a double-take. She could tell that she had put him in a quandary – should he serve spirits to a young lady? She met his eye.

I assure you, I am in dire need of something a little stronger than punch, after dancing in that crowd all evening. She lifted her eyes slightly in what was meant to be a gesture of amused determination. It worked – either that or he did not dare to contradict her. She watched as he decanted a generous amount into a glass. It was true that brandy was not deemed a drink fit for a lady of refinement, but Grace liked the strong and full-bodied flavour. If her taste offended others, that was their own business. However, as Grace surveyed the room, drink in hand, she was a little curious to see if anyone might notice her and cast a glare of judgement in her direction.

Only one pair of eyes seemed to have noticed Grace’s actions. A man of striking aspect glanced her way for all of a moment. It was a quick analytical gaze, and Grace could not be sure exactly what type of impression she had made on him. He quickly looked at her face, down at her glass, and then took in the rest of her: a clean sweep of her profile. Grace could not even hazard a guess as to whether the man was impressed with her or appalled. His face was like the waters of a great lake – striking and beautiful, yet fathomless and unknowable.

With such mastery over his own emotions and tells, Grace imagined the man would be a natural for cards. It seemed odd, then, that he was not playing. He stood as passive as a statue at the side of another seated gentleman and seemed to be acting as some kind of judge or councillor to his companion, who kept glancing up to the gentleman, and showing his cards, which suggested that the man’s opinion was highly valued. However, the standing gentleman made only brief remarks to his friend, never allowing himself to be drawn completely into his friend’s game.

As she studied him, Grace was pleased with the man’s appearance. She allowed her gaze to linger on the subtle waves of his dark, neatly-cut hair and the line of his square jaw. She could not make out the colour of his eyes, at such a distance, but she fancied they were green like a forest. What impressed her most, was the sheer weight of his presence. It was a presence that was almost unaccountable, and she could not decide what it was that gave him such a powerful air – certainly compared to his friend. He dressed well. He wore an elegant black suit with a silver brocade waistcoat and matching cravat. It was smart, and most certainly the finest tailoring in the city. The gentleman exuded presence, and finally, Grace decided to attribute the man’s attraction to his greater than average height, which was further accentuated by the way he held himself, his spine as straight as a ramrod.

Grace had no qualms about enjoying the view of the unknown man and was pleased to note that she had made some sort of impression on him as well. His gaze returned to her twice during the time she studied him. However, she did not seem to be distracting him from his cool observation of his friend’s game. Grace might have worried about her own looks, were it not for the advances of the boy from whom she had so recently retreated.

Polite applause rose from the table signalling the end of the round. The gentleman Grace had been admiring, patted his friend’s shoulder in congratulations, and began to steer himself away from the players. His departure earned a round of disappointed groans, and the player who had sought his assistance looked a shade more cautious going into his next hand.

Meanwhile, the mysterious gentleman navigated his way straight towards her. The direct manner in which he moved, and the singular nature of his enterprise, sent a thrill through her, as she realised that she was his goal.

Would you mind if I took advantage of your company while we enjoy a drink?

A most direct question. Grace did not know what to make of it, but her curiosity was piqued.

I believe the traditional custom is to seek an introduction through a third party, before imposing yourself in such a way.

The gentleman sucked his cheeks in just a little. He gave a confident bow.

You are quite right. Forgive me for intruding. As quickly as he had made his way to her, he turned to leave.

No, please think nothing of it. It was merely my poor attempt at humour. Grace cursed herself for having nearly driven away the only interesting man at the party. She had not expected him to treat her playful chiding with such seriousness.

The gentleman turned back with the merest hint of a smile playing on his lips, and as the valet approached, he glanced at Grace’s glass. Can I bring something else for you too? Perhaps you could recommend the one that you are drinking?

Thank you, but I will have no more, Grace replied. I can, however, say that it is oaken and has a definite tang of orange to the flavour. I have certainly tasted worse.

Grace smiled at her attractive companion as the valet poured him a glass from the same bottle as he had chosen for her a little earlier – only this time without hesitation. She brought the amber liquid to her lips again and reflected that this was the first time a man had sought her opinion on brandy. He watched her without saying anything – his delicate half-smile still in evidence – pleasant but not obnoxious, nor overly pleased.

So then, shall we see to the introductions ourselves, or do you wish to wait until a mutual acquaintance can introduce us? The gentleman raised his glass to Grace in salute and then took a sip. She found her eyes transfixed on the way his Adam’s apple moved as the liquid coursed down his throat. Men did not usually drink with such finesse. He did not make a show of sloshing the brandy elaborately in his glass, nor did he play the part of the over wise connoisseur. His refinement came wholly from his lack of pretension while drinking.

Perhaps… it may be more convenient for us to converse without names, Grace offered. As soon as we bring names into this pleasing interlude, we open ourselves to a whole swathe of barriers to good conversation.

How so? He lowered his voice so she was forced to lean a little closer.

Well, as soon as a gentleman introduces himself as, let’s say, the son of a duke, some ladies might feel compelled to put on all sorts of feminine airs, and laugh in a practised fashion at his jokes.

If that were the case, I certainly would not wish for that, he said.

You would not? Does the thought of my trying to charm you not appeal? Grace spoke teasingly but could not detect anything in the gentleman’s expression or tone that suggested to her that he was joking.

"Are you the type of woman who acts differently depending on a man’s rank?"

I like to think I am not. Grace replied. But who would not wish to appear more attractive in certain circumstances?

"I appreciate your honest nature. I find that London is full of people who put on false faces to draw notice of a title or rank in any circumstances. And… as for whether or not your charming me would hold any appeal – perhaps that question can be asked again, at a later time."

As relieved as I am to know that you see me as an honest woman, you do seem very certain in your assessment of me.

The gentleman shrugged. No woman seeking to impress a man, would choose to cloister herself in the gaming room, nor to be seen drinking, what I am bound to say, is a rather generously filled brandy glass.

Grace paused with a playful smirk flickering across her lips as she baited the intriguing stranger. You seem to be telling me that I do not impress you.

On the contrary, I’m quite certain that you must turn the heads of men, both single and otherwise, without even meaning to.

You are bold, Sir! Grace’s voice had taken on a husky tone, and she absentmindedly began to curl a lock of her blonde hair about her finger.

I would call it openness rather than boldness. I can assure you, however, that it was the potential of your character that drew me to you and not your looks, fine as they may be.

You covet a woman’s character but are not afraid to acknowledge physical beauty. Grace could feel a knot beginning to tie itself in the pit of her stomach, and her entire body seemed to be prickling with every passing second. She took a moment to look into the eyes she had wondered over from a distance. They were green, as she had hoped, but not the green of soft grasses and forests. His eyes were the green of precious gemstones – sharp and solid like the rest of his face – sharp jaw, sharp cheekbones, and sharp eyes. His visage was almost intimidating, but thrillingly so!

Seeing as this conversation has nothing at all of the typical about it, should I take it you do not intend to ask me for a dance? Grace hoped she did not sound wanton, but she could not deny herself the opportunity of standing with this man in a set.

I had not intended to, he answered. You have barely begun on your glass, and good brandy should neither be hurried nor left unfinished. Besides, you have expressed a wish to maintain anonymity during our time together. Were we to stand together in a dance, I’m sure there would be those known to us both, who would spoil our little game here.

Grace felt a little disappointed. Her own words and actions had conspired against her. There was never a man she wished to know more, and yet the whimsical suggestion of remaining strangers, now threatened to leave the man an eternal stranger to her. To this disappointment was added a further sting, as she realised that her mysterious companion appeared truly uninterested in learning her name. Other than that, the man was refreshingly candid in his conversation, and she found her thoughts and opinions aligned with his on many of the matters that they covered. Despite the agreeable time they were having, something was obviously playing on his mind. There was some resistance in his manner that she felt was keeping him from committing wholly to their conversation.

Tell me… if you could choose between dancing with me or knowing my name, which would be your choice – or maybe you desire neither? The man’s voice was confident as ever, and his emerald eyes studied Grace, as he asked her this playful question.

"You need not fear my being indifferent to you, Sir. May I enquire why I must choose between the two? Is there no chance of my learning your name and stealing a dance with you?" Grace cocked her head slightly, swaying a little, which she hoped would entice the man.

I suppose I am interested to see what your intentions are. If you learn my name and perhaps my address here in London, we might have occasion to know one another better. Dare I say that you might even dare to employ those feminine charms that you mentioned hitherto, against me – even though you did not own up to them directly. He smiled to soften his words. If, however, you truly would prefer us to enjoy a brief moment as strangers, destined never to see one another again, then I would wish to at least share one dance with you.

Grace felt a thrill run through her entire body, and she could not stop herself from biting her bottom lip in anticipation. She tried to imagine what it would be like to dance with the man. He was not built like the other gentlemen of the city. Most of them tended to have either round fattened stomachs that betrayed a lifetime of overindulgence, or they were willowy stick figures with atrophied muscles who were never compelled to physical labour. This man was broad-shouldered, and Grace could almost see his muscles straining under his gentlemanly attire. He seemed like a man accustomed to hard labour, much like the farmers in the fields near her family home in Bradford on Avon. The thought of being led by him, and held by him, sent a definite rush through her. Still, she knew her answer.

I think, Sir, as tempting as a dance might be, I would prefer to take your name, if you are offering it to me.

Of course, The man added briskly. I shall expect your name in return. He had a business-like air about him now, as though he were negotiating some treatise or loan.

I shall oblige you with such, do not fear. Grace continued to smile, but the edge of her lip quavered just a little. For the first time, she found herself unwilling to own her identity.

Very well. If I am to go first, may I present myself as George Blackmore, Marquess of Cromford.

Grace blinked twice. She knew the name. She did not concern herself much with memorising the names of London’s elite, but the name Blackmore was inescapable. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Cromford.

Based on his easy conversation, Grace had not expected the gentleman to have such a high rank, and if she was honest, this evidence of her own prejudice, shook her slightly. However, she immediately sought to regain her composure.

Now we come to the matter of your own name. The marquess’s chest swelled then, perhaps in anticipation.

I am Miss Curtis, Miss Grace Curtis. Grace’s eyes scrutinised Lord Cromford’s expression for any tell. Although she was no duchess, there was reason for the man to have heard of her or her family, and she expected their conversation to come to a disappointing close, if he were indeed aware of her past.

Miss Curtis. The marquess repeated her name to himself. It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope, despite all we vowed at the start of this interlude, that we shall have a chance to further this acquaintance.

I should like that very much, my Lord.

So, Lord Cromford knew nothing of her. This was a relief to Grace, in the short term, although she knew the truth would out sooner or later.

I am in London for the next month on business, the marquess informed her. I hope we might have a chance to meet again, perhaps at Lord Rutherford’s party on Tuesday next?

I believe my aunt will have received an invitation to that particular party. I shall gladly look for you there. Grace could feel an end to their conversation coming.

I shall look forward to meeting you again, there. Lord Cromford gave a quick bow, which may even have been indifferent, and then looked back to the card tables. Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to my friend. He is a poor fit for cards, and I fear he may be goaded into gambling away his hard-won earnings, if I am not there to counsel caution.

Good evening, my Lord.

Grace let out a sigh once the marquess was out of earshot. She had hoped that the man might glance back at her from the card tables. She had also hoped that his eyes might betray him, and that she would catch him gazing longingly at her. No such looks were afforded her. Once Lord Cromford returned to his friend’s side, he seemed totally dedicated to the cause he had set himself.

It ought not to have been so, but the man’s ability to not be driven to distraction by her, rather made him more worth knowing.

Chapter 2

The dream tapered off just as he led his curious and beguiling partner to the dance floor. His imagination had been stoked by the memory of the young woman that had stood alone in the gaming room sipping brandy. She was unlike any woman he had encountered, and it seemed only natural that her face, her voice, her wit should have been seared on his memory, as they had been.

A single ray of sunshine made its way across George’s large, empty bed. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to lie amidst the cool sheets thinking more about the last evening, but George would not let himself be indolent. The woman was still little more than a stranger to him, and he could not yield up all sense and reason to an unknown girl, no matter how enchanting she was.

The marquess was out of bed in an instant. He threw back the covers and stood straight up, eager to become master of his own mind once more. There were practical matters he should attend to regarding his new acquaintance. He knew nothing of her, save her name, and she had guarded that well during the ball. The way she guarded her name had him supposing that she must belong to one of the great families of the nation, the daughter of an earl or perhaps a relation to some royal line. In the great game that was London society, love could be won or lost, based on whom one knew. The marquess, of course, knew a great many people, but he had never once heard the name of Curtis among his circle of acquaintances. This was no great cause for alarm, however. George rang the bell for a servant, knowing he would have his answers about the mysterious woman, while he prepared himself for the day.

---

Miss Grace Curtis? Mr Corder, George’s valet, let a poignant silence fill the room after repeating the name.

What is it, Corder? George stopped scrubbing his body with the flannel and turned in his bath to regard his valet.

I beg your pardon, Sir?

You only go silent in that heavy, cautious fashion when you want to say something that you think will displease me. You know I value honesty over fawning, so be out with it. Just what objectionable quality does the girl have that made you clam up the instant you heard her name?

It grieves me to tell you, as you do not often show interest in women of any stripes.

Just tell me what you know, Corder. George fished his sponge from the bath and began to clean his back vigorously.

Miss Curtis is a gentleman’s daughter, and hails from the town of Bradford on Avon, not far from the city of Bath. Her most prominent connection is through her aunt, who is the Duchess of Lynch.

The Duchess of Lynch, indeed? I confess I did not know she even had nieces. George was aware of the formidable widow – a woman very much intrinsic to London’s social scene. Many prominent figures in London made sure to keep her in their circle, and her acquaintance opened up many doors for advancement and for business.

The duchess’s sister married a gentleman of good standing, but of a somewhat meagre fortune. Her nieces have only made an appearance in London in the last few years.

So the objection is a monetary one. You would caution against a pursuit of her on the grounds of her low station? George took a deep breath and threw his sponge back into the tepid water. He knew Miss Curtis’s station would be of interest to his father.

I would like to say that wealth and consequence were the only stains on Miss Curtis’s name. However, I am sorry to say that her name was cast into ill repute because of a scandal a year or so ago, involving her older sister.

Just what kind of scandal are we talking about? George’s lips drew thin. He leaned forward in the bath and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I am not acquainted with the finer details, but I believe Miss Curtis aided her elder sister in an elopement. What made the elopement